


Far from Budapest

by misura



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21932950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: When Clint and Natasha get into some trouble, Fury sends in the cavalry. (Without actually telling them, of course.)
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49
Collections: Yuletide Madness 2019





	Far from Budapest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoctorTrekLock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Ни разу не Будапешт](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22462339) by [Greenmusik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenmusik/pseuds/Greenmusik)



They're completely surrounded, running low on ammuniton, outnumbered sixty-one to two, and Clint is making kissy sounds at a cat. Admittedly, Natasha would be more annoyed if he'd been making kissy sounds at _her_ , but still.

"Clint."

"So what's a pretty girl like you doing in a nasty place like this, eh? Eh?" Clint scratches the cat under its chin. _His_ chin, she's fairly sure, but she's definitely not going to bring that up, because this is so very much not the time for that sort of conversation.

(Or any kind of conversation, other than: when's our back-up slash rescue team arriving and how are we going to make sure we're still alive when they get here?)

"Clint," she repeats.

"Yeah, yeah," Clint says, as if she's nagging him for the hell of it, instead of being a sensible person. "Guess Auntie Nat doesn't like cats," he tells the cat.

Natasha's pretty sure her file includes a list of Most Likely Pets. SHIELD is thorough like that, and also, Coulson hates giving people gifts they don't like for the Secret Santa. (Natasha views the whole thing more like a challenge-slash-training-exercise, but she respects Coulson's desire to make things easy for himself.)

The cat walks over to Natasha and starts to purr while butting its head against her legs.

"I'm not going to die while tripping over a damn cat," Natasha tells it. Or Clint. Definitely Clint. There would be no point in telling the cat, given that it doesn't understand human language.

"Fair enough," Clint says, picking up the cat with his left arm. The cat keeps purring, and Natasha assures herself she doesn't feel a tiny bit hurt at this show of disloyalty. "There. Happy? Think we can talk strategy now?"

"I can hurt you, you know," Natasha says, because even for Clint, this is pushing it.

Clint brandishes the cat at her as if any part of him would consider using it for a shield, even for a split second. "I've got a cat."

"I've got a plan," Natasha says. Not much of one, but something's better than nothing.

"All right, so your thing's better than my thing." Clint puts down the cat and crouches down to pet it some more. "What else is new? Who's a pretty lady, then, hm?"

"Clint."

"I'm listening," Clint says. "I'm a man. We can multi-task."

"I will agree with you that you're a man," Natasha says.

Clint sighs and gets up. A bullet hits the wall a few inches to the left of his head. The cat hisses.

Natasha gets down - _not_ because there's a cat that looks upset and in need of being petted and praised, it goes without saying. Still, since she's down there anyway, she supposes she might as well make sure Clint doesn't get distracted again.

"I think we should make a run for it," Clint says, picking up the cat again.

"Agreed," Natasha says.

"I also think we should take the cat. This is not a good place for a cat, Nat. It's going to get hurt, and then I'll feel bad, and then _you'll_ feel bad, and next thing you know, we're both feeling bad, and we all know what happens when we both feel bad. It'll be Budapest all over again." Clint pauses. "Well, without the cat, I mean. There weren't any cats involved in Budapest."

"Clint." Natasha checks her watch.

"All right, yeah, bad place to bring up Budapest. So. On the count of three?"

"Give me the cat, Clint." Not that Natasha wants to break cover while carrying fifteen pounds of cat, but at least she _knows_ she can still fight with only one hand free.

Clint can't - at least not if they're talking bow-and-arrows, and a couple of exploding arrows might just make the difference between a successful getaway and getting pinned down again in a strategically undesirable location.

"You like her too, don't you?" Clint says, handing over the cat like it's a high-value package. "Admit it, she's growing on you."

"You got a name picked out already?" Natasha asks. If they're going to die, she's going to regret wasting time on this conversation, but they're not, so she won't. Hopefully.

"We're going to have to share," Clint says.

"I'm not much of a sharer."

Clint shrugs. "You care, you share."

"I'm not much of a carer either," Natasha says. "All right, on three."

"She talks tough, but she's a big softie on the inside, really," Clint tells the cat.

"Three," Natasha says, feeling the cat start to wriggle, probably because it really, really wants her to die while tripping over it. (All right, probably not, but she's a spy; paranoia comes with the job.)


End file.
